


Somewhere Only We Know

by nerdzeword



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family Magic, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mental Illness, The Mindscape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 22:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdzeword/pseuds/nerdzeword
Summary: The small store was nestled between the Apothecary shop and Madame Malkin’s on Diagon Alley. It wasn’t fancy by any means, just a simple storefront with a sign that read, “Meet me in Wonderland.”





	Somewhere Only We Know

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had a much different plan for this story, then I started writing it and I decided that this is, apparently, the story that needed to be told. Much thanks to my brother and best friend, who also double as my betas. You guys are the real MVPs. A very special thanks to RZZMG who made this at least ten times better than it was before.

 

The small store was nestled between the Apothecary shop and Madame Malkin’s on Diagon Alley. It wasn’t fancy by any means, just a simple storefront with a sign that read, “Meet Me In Wonderland.” It was a mystery shop, and it had the residents of the Alley all atwitter with excitement. 

In the first weeks of its opening, only a few daring souls braved the unknown and entered the shop, determined to discover its secrets and return to tell their friends. However, when they attempted to describe the experience later, they would find themselves incapable of doing so, leaving the rest of the world even more confused and delighted at the enigmatic shop. 

A few people grew suspicious and started researching the shop and its inhabitants, but they always came up with nothing, as if the shop were owned by a long forgotten ghost. Within a couple of months, the shop had become a center of activity, drawing in people from all over Britain who wanted to know what could leave people both so happy and melancholic upon departure.  

Draco Malfoy was just like everyone else, drawn to the shop and the mystery behind it. In the four months since its first appearance, he had found himself drawn to the little shop in a way he had never been drawn to anything before. Not since before the war, anyway. 

Like every other time he was inexplicably drawn to something, he resisted at first, telling himself that it was simply a brothel in disguise or a strange little fortune shop. It had taken a bet from Blaise before he’d finally given in. 

His heart hammered away inside his chest as he stood outside the doorway now, somehow instinctively knowing that no matter what happened in there, no matter what this shop was, that everything was going to be different afterwards. 

Draco pushed open the door.

“Hello! Welcome to Wonderland,” a woman chirped at him from behind the counter. “First time?” she asked. 

He nodded slowly as he looked around. 

It looked like an office, with little cubicles lining the walls. The entire room was painted a pleasant shade of blue, and sunlight streamed through what had to have been charmed windows, as they were covered in heavy drapes if you looked in from the outside. 

“If I could just get you to fill out this form for me?” 

The girl handed him a clipboard, which Draco took without a word. He looked at it; it didn’t give much information on either the shop or the shop’s purpose. It was simply a disclaimer stating that if you observed anything you did not wish to see, you would not sue the business. 

Draco understood the form, even if it didn’t say much. It was a fairly standard disclaimer; his father used one at his own business. That similarity settled his nerves. He signed quickly. 

The girl led him to one of the cubicles in the back. As they passed, he noticed some of the other cubicles were filled with sleeping people. In the cubicle next to his own, he realized he recognized the inhabitant. As the girl explained that he would be given a potion that would put him to sleep and keep him that way for exactly one hour, while a spell would be placed on him to send him into the alternate mindscape they called ‘Wonderland’, all Draco could think about was the fact that Hermione Granger was in the cubicle next door.

It was still in his thoughts as the potion slowly pulled him under.

 

When Draco woke, he was in a dark room. The only light was coming from a lamp on a small table next to a large armchair. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked around and realized that he was back in the Library of Hogwarts. That was strange, as from what he’d gathered by what the girl had said, he should have found himself in a favorite comfortable location.. He had never really drawn much comfort from the library at Hogwarts. If anything, he had taken to avoiding it altogether by the time sixth year came around, mainly because  _ she _ was there. 

She had  _ always _ been there.

It turned out that even in his dreams, that fact was still true

There was a thump as a book fell out of her hand, and Draco turned to find her behind him. 

“How did you get in here?” she demanded. . 

He took in her appearance. She was thinner now, her once bushy hair matted and tangled, chopped to different lengths and in desperate need of a wash. Her eyes still held that haunted look he had come to associate with the war. Draco knew that his eyes held the same look. This though? This was the look of someone who had spent her entire life fighting, and no idea what to do when the world no longer needed fighters. 

She looked insane. 

“Not the same as you, I suspect,” he said. “You look far too comfortable to have been simply given a potion and let loose for an hour. This is your business?” 

“What do you know, Malfoy?” she snapped, but her tone lacked the bite that it had always held. 

“A lot more than you think,” he replied, trying to decide if he should try to help her, or just stay out of her way and let her do her own thing for the next hour. Draco recognized the feral look in her eyes from years of looking in the mirror.

He came to a decision. He had never been good at staying out of her way anyway.

“Is this really your best memory? The one where you feel all safe and warm?” He commented dryly, finders brushing the spine of one of the books. She smiled bitterly. 

“Wonderland doesn’t work for me. This is a side effect of my crazy. I don’t get my best and favorite memories here. I get  _ everything _ . At least this place is quiet.” 

Draco heard the sadness in her voice and it nearly broke him.“You’ve gained control of your own mindscape. Impressive. In that case, I suppose each of these books is a different moment or memory?” 

He pulled one off the shelf and opened it. 

Instantly, they were thrust into a memory of her sitting on a desk in an empty classroom. She was sobbing, and several little birds fluttered around her. Draco thought that it was probably fifth or sixth year by the volume of her hair. 

“Ron had just gotten together with Lavender Brown. I was distraught,” present-Hermione said wryly. 

Draco slammed the book shut. He didn’t want to hear about how much she had loved Weasley. He didn’t want to see her cry anymore. 

“It seemed like the end of the world at the time,” she admitted. “Looking back it seems so trivial now, but you saw.” She waved her hand at the book. “Children are so stupid,” she said bitterly. 

“Kids are lucky,” Draco argued. He placed the book back on the shelf. “They get to care about things effortlessly. Well, most kids do. I never had that luxury.” 

“Is that why you’re not crazy too?” she asked, curiosity overriding her caution. Draco glanced at her. 

“I’ve been crazy for a hell of a lot longer than you, Granger. I just had a reason to fight it.” 

She smirked at him, clearly not believing his claims. “And what was that?” 

Draco’s eyes wandered the shelves. He noted that they were arranged in a strange pattern. Anyone else might have said that she didn’t have any organization at all, but Draco knew Hermione Granger, and he understood her mind better than she thought. 

He wandered through the shelves until he found the book he was looking for. It was in the Restricted Section, tied in chains, which nearly covered the careful lettering. 

_ Malfoy Manor.  _

“No.” 

There was real fear in her voice. 

“If you want to understand, you’re going to have to trust me.” 

She looked at him scornfully.“What reason do I have to trust you?” 

“Fine. We’ll wait. Instead-” 

Draco wandered back through the shelves until he found another book, not too far from the first one. He opened it before she had had the chance to protest, and they were thrust into yet another memory. 

“The Yule Ball? Why this memory?” she asked. 

“Watch,” he replied, pointing to the scene playing out in front of them. 

Granger was coming down the stairs, but Draco’s eyes were focused on his younger self, standing off to the side with Pansy Parkinson. He cringed at how obvious he was being. How no one had picked up on his true thoughts and feelings that time was honestly baffling. 

Hermione noted his younger version gawking at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked

“Why do you think?”

She seemed to consider that. “But you hated me!” 

Draco grimaced, the memories of how he had torn himself apart even then still ricocheting through his head. “No. Never.” 

He shut the book and immediately went in search of another. 

Memories of things she learned were a bit harder to find than full memories, but he eventually succeeded. It had, after all, been him to give her the book. 

He pulled the memory off the shelf and handed it to Hermione, who opened it carefully.

“Family magic? How did you even know I read this?” He didn’t answer. The contents of the original book swirled around them looking a bit like ghostly birds. “What does family magic have to do with-” 

Draco snatched a page from the air and held it out for her. 

She took it hesitantly, than read aloud. “Family magics are the biggest difference between pure-bloods and Muggle-born witches and wizards, as Muggle-borns have no family magics, having not yet claimed their magic completely and ensured its full allegiance. The older the wizarding family, the more powerful the family magic, and the harder the family magic is to resist. Family magic is born of desire. Some families desire wealth, others fame, and still others power. Once a family magic has set its sights on its desire, only a far greater desire can sway its path-” 

Draco shoved her hands together in order to shut the book. The many thoughts and ideas swirling through the room giving him a headache. 

“What are you trying to tell me?” she asked, the familiar spark of interest igniting in her dark eyes. 

“The Malfoy family magic is power,” he explained. “We are always drawn to the most powerful person we know. That’s why so many of my family members are involved with politics. When I was a child, my father would tell me stories of the Dark Lord and speak of his power, but it’s hard to think of a man who was killed by a baby as an all-powerful being.”

“So why-” 

Draco ignored her and wandered further back into the shelves, looking for a thin sliver of a book that had lain forgotten in a dark corner for a long time. He pulled it open and they were dropped into Flourish and Blotts this time on a sunny August morning. This was the most important memory Draco had, and he wondered at how it could seem so small to her. 

Young Hermione, not yet twelve-years old, sat in a large armchair in the corner, surrounded by several piles of books. Young Draco, was watching her from the other side of the room. It wasn’t the same way he had watched her at the Yule Ball, as what he felt for her was more of a curiosity than a desire at that point. Young Draco’s eyes widened as young Hermione’s book floated in the air as she flipped through another one beside her. 

Hermione watched the scene unfold with interest. “I had nearly forgotten about this,” she said. 

In the memory, another book flew off the shelves toward her and flipped open next to the first.

“You hadn’t even obtained a wand yet,” he reminded her, “and you could already perform wandless, wordless magic. I hadn’t even seen my parents do anything like it, and you were the same age as me.” 

Draco shut the book as understanding alighted in Hermione’s eyes. 

“Your family magic latched on to me,” she looked as if she had just solved a great mystery.

He nodded. “Do you know how bloody hard you were to keep alive?” She ignored him, clearly thinking.

“You didn’t look crazy. Even at the Yule Ball, you seemed normal.”

“You’ve read the book. You know what happens to people who deny their family magic.”

“They go insane.” She whispered, looking more and more alarmed. “But you’re fine. Aren’t you?”

“My father and grandfather’s magic chose the same man- Voldemort. And they expected me to do the same, not knowing that mine had already latched onto you. I got very good at hiding my crazy. Even at the ball I was wearing glamours. I did what I could, but during the war, I couldn’t leave my parents. It would have meant death for both of us.” 

Draco considered pulling down the memory of the chaos after the World Cup, but decided against it. He was running out of time. Instead, he walked back to the chained book and pulled it off the shelf.

“Please, Granger. This is important.” 

She bit her lip, but pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the book. Draco pulled it open with a wince. He understood her hesitancy to look back at this memory, it was the worst day of his life as well, but she had to. If she ever wanted to be mentally stable again, she had to. 

They were dropped into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. 

Draco had burnt the Manor to the ground the minute he had claimed his inheritance at eighteen. He had hoped to never see the place again. 

They watched as Potter and Weasley were led off to the dungeons, and Bellatrix rounded on Hermione. Draco once again couldn’t seem to drag his eyes from her on the floor, where she’d ended up after his aunt’s torture. His magic had been right to choose her, for anyone else would have given up within minutes of being placed under one of his aunt’s curses. 

Where he was watching her, Hermione was focused on Draco’s younger self. 

“Did you really look that bad last time too? How did I not notice?” Draco dragged his eyes from the Hermione on the floor, and settled them on the Hermione beside him instead.

“I told you. I’ve been crazy for a long time.” 

He didn’t have to look at his past self to see that his hands were shaking with the effort of not going to her side, and his eyes were filled with a manic desperation.

“How long?” Hermione whispered. 

“Since my dad told me about family magic and I realized it had latched onto you in third year. Helping you from the sidelines kept the insanity at bay, a bit. But no one knew where you were in seventh year and the Dark Lord was after you. It was worse then.”

“But you’re fine now,” she said, and he recognized the glimmer of hope in her voice. 

“My mind looks like Flourish and Blotts,” he pointed out, dryly. The book snapped shut as she turned to look at him.

“My mind is safer than the outside world.” 

“Is it really?” He raised an eyebrow.

She looked thoughtful .“No, I suppose not. You’re never going to leave me alone now, are you?” 

“No.” He took her hand. “Never.”

She nodded and her lips curled with a hopeful smile. “Alright.”  

Draco woke up and immediately scrambled to his feet. He had a witch to find. 


End file.
